


Riddle

by doctortrekkie



Series: Break Me Down and Build Me Up [14]
Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cheve Plotline Continues, Christmas Presents, Featuring three (3) new characters to be tagged in the second half, Gen, Holidays, Letters, Minor Character Death, Politics, Pre-Canon, Presents, Riots, boy I do love Scarlet, hello to Hans Saizou and Kagerou, it's not Christmas here but ya know, oh look a month later there's been an update, ooooh who could they be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-07-29 13:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20082688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctortrekkie/pseuds/doctortrekkie
Summary: With Leo and Camilla’s pseudo-exile into Cheve having dragged until nearly the end of the year, their time away from Krakenburg grows ever-more unbearable. Corrin’s once-frequent letters to them have abruptly ceased and even the promise of an approaching visit home doesn’t quite hold the appeal it should.Despite Leo’s best efforts to smooth over his father’s unpopular policies, his mere presence in the heart of the already seditious territory is doing far more harm than good. Cheve is a pot heated beyond its limit and it looks as though even the slightest jostle will send it boiling over. When Scarlet returns from a trip to Cyrkensia, bearing news from across the sea, it seems the chain of events already set in place is much too far along now to be stopped.(Takes place a year and a half before the beginning of Fates and a month and a half afterDrought;December 634)





	1. Life is Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose [today's song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0YR0G5qFIE&list=PLD1aPrpW6AsAkbU5ic3UQKua8UabnpcL8&index=9) might technically be cheating, as it is entitled "THE Riddle" and as such doesn't fit the 'one word titles' theme I have going on in this series but... c'mon, give it a listen and tell me it doesn't perfectly encapsulate the Nohrian court. So, I'm giving myself a pass on this one.

_ We all are caught in the middle of one long treacherous riddle, can I trust you? Should you trust me too? We shamble on through this hell, taking on more secrets to sell, till there comes a day when we sell our souls away… _

**Chevalier, Cheve, Nohr**

Snow drifted down from gray-bellied clouds without hurry, beginning to collect in powdery clumps in the edges and corners of Chevalier’s streets, lest it be trampled under the busy boots that trod along their paths.

On one such street, the second prince of Nohr hunched against the chill, his collar (inside out) pulled up to guard the back of his neck against errant precipitation. Leo was beginning to regret the fact he hadn’t taken Hati, even knowing the walk he took was short enough that between tacking up and having to go the opposite direction of his destination just to get to the stable, riding would have taken the same amount of time as walking.

At least imagining the look of utter disgust and betrayal Hati would have given him at being forced to leave his cozy stall for the dreary day outside was amusing enough to warm Leo’s heart a fraction.

A few minutes later, the prince arrived at his destination, scraping his feet to rid his boots of the mud that hadn’t quite frozen yet before he entered the establishment, a cheery bell above the door announcing his arrival.

Northern Chevalier had an odd little post office; it was tiny compared to how many people it serviced, and Leo had wondered more than once over the nearly two months he’d spent there why it hadn’t taken over a much larger building. It wasn’t even its own building, in fact—merely a counter tucked into the back of the local library-slash-bookstore, run by a steel-haired woman with round glasses and a permanent frown.

As usual, Leo was met with merely a glare from the aged postmaster. She had certainly seen enough of him over his time there—more than enough, he was sure she thought. But for the times he and Camilla ended up further afield in Cheve’s more rural provinces, Leo had made the trek daily.

And for the first time in almost two weeks, his patience had been rewarded.

The postmaster shoved a thick parchment across the counter with her spindly fingers splayed wide. Leo’s heart jumped as he caught a glimpse of the writing under her hand, slightly smudged as if its author hadn’t quite waited long enough for the ink to dry before handling it.

_ It would be just like Corrin,  _ he thought, resisting the soft grin that was threatening his features as he snatched up the letter.

He dropped the second parchment.

Whatever joy had been thrumming through his veins abruptly vanished at the sight of the fallen letter, its Nohrian crest stamped deeply into amethyst wax. There was no mistaking his father’s seal.

With Corrin’s letter still carefully clutched in one hand, Leo bent down and snatched up Garon’s missive.  _ Might as well get the worst over with,  _ he thought, ducking behind a bookshelf into an aisleway out of sight of the postmaster.

His father’s letter, once he got past the typical trappings of royal correspondence, really only had one sentence with the entire point.  _ I am granting you ten days leave to return to Krakenburg for the new year. _

Leo lowered the parchment, already doing the math in his head. It was perhaps three days from Chevalier to Windmire—less if they both took Camilla’s wyvern, but  _ that  _ wouldn’t be happening any time soon. They could leave early the morning of December the twenty-eighth, only the day after tomorrow. If they did, they would arrive on the night of the thirtieth, which meant they wouldn’t miss the annual masquerade ball held on New Year’s Eve—a point which was certainly far more important to Camilla than it was to Leo, but a point nonetheless. (Arriving that late would also neatly absolve them of any responsibility of preparing for that event.) That meant they could stay until the third and be back in Cheve by the night of the sixth.

_ And that meant he would have time to see Corrin. _

Despite himself, another smile came to Leo’s face as he tucked Garon’s orders into the inside breast pocket of his coat. He and Camilla had been sent to Cheve so suddenly that they hadn’t even had time to go to the Northern Fortress and tell Corrin in person—Elise had had to carry the message for them after they had already left. Leo knew that had been yet another part of the discipline even being in Cheve entailed, but it hadn’t stung any less—until he’d arrived in Cheve and had a letter waiting from Corrin less than forty-eight hours later.

She’d written him almost daily since then, but for the past week and a half. (She’d written Camilla as well, of course, but Leo had noted smugly one day that his letters had all been significantly longer.) Now, he held her unopened message with reverent fingers, determined to take it in after the worrying gap.

He might have been imagining it, but he could almost swear he could smell the Northern Fortress as he cracked the seal, that familiar mix of dust and cloves.

_ Leo, _

_ I’m really sorry I haven’t written you! Father intercepted one of your notes to me last week. It seems silly to me, but Elise says he was ‘super mad’ about it, so I’m not going to be able to send you letters anymore. She promised me that she’d make sure this one got to you (though I’m not sure how. I guess she’ll probably have Arthur send it from somewhere other than Windmire, where Father won’t know about it?) so that you and Camilla won’t worry anymore. (I know you’ve been worrying. Stop frowning, little brother, I can almost see you doing it!) _

(Leo had, in fact, frowned at that line, though it was hardly fair for Corrin to have called him out on it.)

_ I still miss you both lots! I think I’m going to keep writing and just give them all to you whenever you get back. Hopefully it’s soon or you’ll have a lot to go through! Obviously, you don’t have to do the same. It might be a little silly, but I hope nothing TOO exciting happens before you can tell me about it! And don’t worry about me too much. Elise has been visiting almost every day. We’re working on writing ‘The Saga of Lord Bowler’ and it’s coming along really well! You’ll get to read it when you come back! _

_ Lots of love! _

_ Corrin _

_ P.S. Make sure Hati and Marzia get extra pets from me! _

Leo read the letter over three times before he folded it back along its creases and tucked it into his pocket alongside its companion. Trust Corrin to cover her own disappointment with extra exclamation points and an utter sense of disregard for her own state. It made his heart ache to think they had gone two months beyond their longest guesses for her captivity—and now he wasn’t even there to weather it with her, all because he’d dared to point it out.

He stared vacantly and unblinking at the shelf across from him for several minutes more than he probably should have. For a moment, he let himself think selfishly. Corrin’s letters had been one of the few things that had made his pseudo-exile remotely bearable, and now his father had taken that away as well.

A sound of utter frustration rose in Leo’s throat, barely muffled at the last moment.  _ Powerless.  _ They were all so utterly  _ powerless  _ against even the most meaningless of Garon’s whims: Corrin in her prison of a fortress, Xander in his prison of loyalty and willful blindness, and Leo simply being too damned  _ outnumbered  _ at every single turn.

_ Was this how the whole of Cheve felt? _

After that sobering question, the quiet background hum of Leo’s thoughts seemed to cut off for a second, then start back off in an entirely different direction. His eyes focused on one of the leather-bound titles in front of him. Thin, scrolling writing down the spine read  _ Artist’s Rendition of a Chevois Winter. _

With nimble fingers, Leo slid the book from its place on the shelf, letting it fall open to a page in the middle.

An expertly crafted image stared back at him, rendered in watercolor, bearing the likeness of a frozen lake surrounded by forest. Two tiny, inked figures skated along the icy surface.

He flicked through the book, skimming the rest of it. Most of the art was merely inked, but a few had been fully colored and all were—even by Leo’s exalted standards—quite good.

The entire thing might as well have had “Corrin” written all over it.

_ “I’m just pointing out that a talented wordsmith ought to be able to create such a powerful mental image one has no need for pictures,”  _ he’d said once—quite naively in hindsight.

That had been a moment before Corrin had replied in a tone that still brought a lump to his throat:  _ “I mean, a picture book is the only way I’m ever going to see Cyrkensia.” _

He wondered when he’d ever get to make good on his promise to take her to Cyrkensia and anywhere else she wished to go.  _ Leo and Corrin’s Venture Through Nohr and Surrounding Territories.  _ Or  _ Corrin and Leo’s,  _ as she’d insisted.

Leo supposed he didn’t really care what they called it, as long as the day came that they got to do it.

He wondered if it would be Xander on the throne of Nohr by then.

In the meantime, Leo flipped to the front cover of the book, wincing a little as he caught the price tag. It was more than he usually spent on New Year’s presents, though not as potentially outrageous as it could have been. He did have a rather heavy pouch of gold in his pocket—Garon had sent them with quite a bit more coin than they needed for necessities, probably expecting it to be spent in bribes and the like. Leo thought this was a far better use for it.

He snapped the book closed and headed for the front counter—thankfully in the opposite direction of the postmaster.

As he neared the front counter, the door jingled again, opening to reveal a figure draped in so many layers of furs as to be androgynous. “Bah, if it isn’t cold enough out there to freeze a wyvern’s ass off,” they said, somehow managing to sound grumpy and cheery in equal measure. “Mornin’, Jacques.”

The front counter clerk—a ginger-haired boy of perhaps Camilla’s age, apparently named Jacques—lit up with a cheery wave directed toward the newest customer. “Scarlet! When did you get back?”

The new arrival threw her hood back to reveal choppy blond hair and a fair, freckled complexion flushed from the cold. Having only encountered her in the flesh once, Leo might not have recognized her had Xander not expounded on his own encounter with the governor’s daughter the previous summer in detail.

“Last night,” Scarlet said, leaning over the counter to plant a kiss on Jacques’s cheek. “I’d have stayed in Cyrkensia if I’d known Cheve planned on welcoming me back like this.”

“Who’s to say you didn’t bring the snow with you?” Jacques shot back.

Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Because compared to this, Nestra was downright  _ balmy.” _

“Not surprising, really,” Leo heard himself say without making the conscious decision to join the conversation. “There’s a relatively warm ocean current off the Nestran coast that has quite a significant effect on the climate. Nothing like the Mokushujin Current, of course, else Akacester would likely be the only tropical destination on the western half of the continent, but the impact is still noticeable compared to inland Nohr.”

A long moment passed before two very deliberate stares turned in his direction.

Leo paused, his stride coming up short as he cleared his throat. “The more you know,” he added.

Jacques’s expression turned cross and he opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of whatever he’d been about to say when Scarlet reached across the counter to pinch the back of his hand. “Your Highness,” the governor’s daughter said; slowly, like the title burned her throat.

Apparently, the recognition had gone both ways from their singular meeting when Leo had first arrived in Cheve. “Scarlet,” he replied, ducking his head slightly in recognition—not a bow, but a show of respect nonetheless. If Leo was smart and he played his cards right, Scarlet—and her father—could prove valuable allies indeed, and he had no better time to curry that favor than now.

Scarlet, on the other hand, didn’t seem keen on helping Leo further any of those plans. She stared at him for a moment more, then deliberately turned back to the counter in what could only be a pointed show of ignoring him.

Unwilling to be deterred—and still needed to pay for Corrin’s present—Leo continued toward the front counter undaunted. “I trust you found your visit to Cyrkensia quite delightful?” he said. “I’ve heard the showing of  _ The Duchess and the Fox  _ was quite spectacular this year.”

Scarlet shot him a steely look from the corner of her eyes, giving Leo a moment to note they were scarcely a few shades lighter than his own. “I wouldn’t know,” she replied. “Never cared that much for the opera. S’all a bit screamy for my taste.”

Leo shrugged at that, setting his purchase on the counter. Jacques glanced between Leo and Scarlet, then hurriedly pulled out a pad of paper from under the counter.

“I was visiting a friend of my mom’s, anyways,” Scarlet added, then quirked her head to shoot an odd look at Leo’s book. “Huh. Didn’t really peg  _ you  _ for the artsy type.”

Leo blinked, belatedly realizing what she was referring to. “Ah. No. New Year’s present for my sister,” he explained.

“I can have it shipped straight from here if you’d like,” Jacques interjected, then quoted a price that sounded suspiciously high even to ears used to Windmire’s often inflated economy.

“That won’t be necessary,” Leo said, passing the required coin across the counter and tucking the book back under his arm. “I’ll be there to deliver it in person.”

Scarlet shot him another odd look at that, but before she could say anything, a shout from outside rent the air, so loudly it echoed even through the wood and glass of the building.

Another followed it, a bellow of sheer fury eclipsed by a scream of horror. “What the…” Jacques started. Out the window, a pair of pedestrians spun toward the sound, breaking into matching jogs before ducking down another street and out of sight.

“The devil is going on out there?” Scarlet asked, pushing away from the counter as the commotion continued.

Leo didn’t bother to speak, merely tucking Corrin’s book in his satchel beside Brynhildr and striding for the door.

He knew, all too well, the sound of a crowd out for blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The titular character of the work Corrin mentions in her letter, "The Saga of Lord Bowler," is shamelessly stolen from one of my all-time favorite TV shows, "The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr," a one-season wonder Sci-Fi Western from the nineties that takes exactly nothing about itself seriously. It's wildly anachronistic, full of terrible puns and tropes out the wazoo, and you should 100% watch it if you ever get the chance. (Especially if you like Hati, because Brisco's mount of choice, "Comet the Wonder Horse," has some very strong Hati aspects.) Now, I don't imagine that that Corrin and Elise are writing stories about a bounty hunter in the 1890s wild west who ends up tagging along with the main character into various supernatural adventures and becomes the subject of a great deal of in-universe dime novels, but feel free to imagine the Fates version also getting up to a slew of reality-breaking shenanigans.
> 
> -Also on the subject of Corrin's stories: I very much imagine that being stuck in a fortress for all of your life without any contact to the outside world would demand some sort of creative outlet, and considering my own choice of hobbies I thought storytelling was an apt choice. A lot of my early writings from middle and high school came from trading various stories with my friends, both verbal and written. (We had one VERY long, VERY intricate universe that several of us collaborated on for YEARS that basically boiled down to being the self-insert protagnists of multiple fandoms at once, since our imaginary counterparts traveled back and forth between whatever fictional universes we were most obsessed with at the time. Yes, it was a blast.) I can totally imagine Corrin getting into a similar thing around the same age and Elise joining in soon after. (Leo was probably a part of it when they were younger, too, although since he had to mature quite a bit more than the two of them for various reasons, he doesn't participate in it a whole lot by this point. He can be <s>convinced</s> <s>bribed</s> <s>blackmailed</s> into it on occasion, though. He does usually end up getting outvoted when he tries to be the voice of scientific reason and point out the implausibility of whatever the current storyline is, but you know he secretly enjoys it.)
> 
> -Cheve characters are getting a mostly French-esque naming theme if that hasn't become apparent yet. This is partially because I draw a lot of inspiration from the Scarlet Pimpernel soundtrack for the Cheve plotline and partially because I wanted a way to differentiate Chevois culture from Nohrian culture. Since Scarlet (the character, not the musical) is the only named Chevois character in the game, I had a bit of leeway when deciding this; in addition, the word 'scarlet' can be partially traced back to the Old French word 'escarlate,' which I only just discovered while writing this author's note, so I feel doubly justified in my choice now. Cybalt, Scarlet's father, is an exception to this--it's just a letter-change from "Cobalt" to go with his daughter (although it is pronounced with a sibilant C, as in sye-balt).


	2. And the Game is Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a chain of events is not easily broken.

_ Can I run to you? Are you true to me? I’ll do unto you as you do to me, and we slowly learn someone has to burn, better you than me… (But finally, treason will seize us, and only fools follow golden rules…) _

**Chevalier, Cheve, Nohr**

Within moments, the crowd had grown so thick Leo had to resist the temptation to part it with Brynhildr. Dim awareness that Scarlet followed on his heels was quickly noted and pushed aside to make room for the bigger issues.

_ “Dastards!” _ a woman shouted. “Cruel, worthless _ dastards!” _

A cold laugh came from the center of the crowd just as Leo reached the interior fringes of the crowd. “Bold words from a Chevois dog!”

Two figures stood in the middle of it all—one with his back to Leo, tall and broad, his bald head raised high; the other’s face could be seen, revealing a bloodied lip and one eye swiftly turning to black. He didn’t even look as if he were Leo’s age, though it was hard to tell with the other man looming over the boy, pressing him back against the cold stone wall of an anonymous building behind them.

A short gasp sounded from behind him, followed by Scarlet’s low whisper. “Is that your brother?”

Leo’s gaze snapped out over the crowd, automatically seeking out Xander before he realized the words hadn’t been addressed to him. Instead, he glanced back to find Jacques beside Scarlet, face white as a sheet. _ “Francis!” _the bookstore’s clerk shouted.

The other boy’s head whipped around, his eyes wide as he searched through the crowd. He opened his mouth, seemingly to reply, but only got out a pained squeak as the bald man cuffed him upside the head.

“See, then!” the bald man shouted, fisting his hand in the collar of the boy’s coat. “See what happens when you defy Nohr’s rightful rule!”

A disgruntled murmur rose up from the crowd at that and the man turned, a callous smile on his face. He raised his empty fist aloft.

And slammed back into the wall behind him so swiftly an audible _thud _rang out over the street.

“Hans,” Leo said coldly, Brynhildr still held aloft as he stepped into the clearing. “Just what is the meaning of this?”

Leo couldn’t remember when, exactly, Hans had come into the service of the royal family, but the circumstances had been so memorable he doubted he would ever manage to forget them. Hans had been accused, tried, and convicted of a long string of crimes up to an including murder in a particularly difficult Windmire winter a few years back, and even if Nohrian courts weren’t always known for their unbiased accuracy, there had been little doubt on the veracity of that particular case. Xander himself had all but arrested him in the very act, after all.

The next thing any of them knew, however, Iago had some slithering in to the situation, tugging at the strings until he’d plied Hans’s sentence into nothing more than an extended period of service in the military. What interest Iago had taken in him, Leo didn’t know, though what he did know was drafting a man as clearly unstable and violent as Hans seemed like _ a very bad idea indeed. _

Presently, Hans straightened slowly, blinking and shaking his head to clear it from the force of his gravity being so quickly redirected. “Prince Leo,” he managed. “Your Highness.”

Another mutter went out over the crowd. Leo quietly tucked away the fact that if those present hadn’t recognized his face on sight, and if Brynhildr hadn’t given him away a moment before, they knew _ exactly _who he was now.

He also noted, just as quickly, that he could almost certainly _ use _that fact. He clicked through a hundred possibilities of how best to manipulate the situation on his behalf and picked what he hoped was the best one.

“I asked you a question, did I not?” Leo said, quirking one brow in Hans’s direction.

Hans puffed up like a jilted cat. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but it seems like you’re a bit late to the party,” he said through a smirk. “You must not have heard what this dastard child said about your father’s rule.”

“And what, exactly,” Leo said, “was that?”

Hans’s smirk only grew. “I’d prefer not to repeat it.”

In a deliberate motion, Leo clapped Brynhildr shut, stowing it once more at his side. “If his speech was as treasonous as you say, then by all means feel free to bring charges against him. In the meantime, I suggest against taking the law into your own hands.”

“As if your damned courts would ever give him justice!” a man shouted, though his voice was lost in the crowd before Leo could identify it. The prince couldn’t exactly _ argue _with that fact, but surely a trial would be better than Hans beating the boy within an inch of his life.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Your Highness,” Francis finally said, his steps staggering as he forced himself upright. “I only wanted to say that—”

_ “Francis!” _ Jacques hissed again, urgently shaking his head in his brother’s direction. _ Shut up! _he mouthed.

Francis, on the other hand, only responded with a mirroring shake of his head, taking a few unsteady strides toward Leo. “What I was saying,” he continued, “was that I’ve had a few ideas—ideas for the betterment of our people, and the current governmental systems in place… If I could perhaps only show you, if you could just see what I mean—”

Leo tilted his head to one side, interest genuinely piqued at the sudden turn of events, when the world slowed to a crawl.

He watched Francis reach for the knapsack swung across one shoulder, rooting around for whatever laid within; he watched Hans blur into motion, a flash of silver suddenly in his hand; he watched Francis’s eyes grow wide, heard him gasp, and saw him pitch forward bonelessly.

Someone screamed as the boy’s knees hit the street, Hans’s knife buried in his back and the notebook he’d been reaching for spinning end over end to fall pages-down in the dirt.

Time spun back into normal speed.

Leo took one startled step back, hand automatically reaching for Brynhildr once more. “For gods’ sakes, what was—”

“Hmm,” Hans said, without an ounce of pity in his voice. “Thought he was reaching for a weapon. You can never be too careful.”

_ “Francis!” _Jacques screamed, the last clear sound from the crowd as cursing and threats began to ring out in Chevois and Nohrian alike.

_ “Hans!” _ Leo shouted, his heartbeat taking off at double time. This had _ not _been what he wanted, not at all, dear gods was the boy even still alive?

Over the rising wave of his own panic, he forced himself toward the fallen Francis; Scarlet and Jacques surged forward at the same moment, but only Leo was brought up short by a rough tug on his arm.

A fist-sized rock sailed by where Leo’s head would have been, impacting the wall behind him with a deadly _ thunk. _

“Lord Leo,” Niles muttered, suddenly at his ear. Leo hadn’t noticed when he’d arrived, though he stiffened as his retainer tightened his grip on his arm once more. “Get out of here.”

“I can’t,” Leo said roughly. “He needs help—he might still be alive—”

“He’s a martyr even if he does live and they’ll have your head on a pike if you stay,” Niles snapped back. His grip loosened, though, as he moved to unfasten the clasp of his cloak. “I swore my life to the service of yours and right now that means getting you _ the hell away from here _if it means carrying you on my shoulders.”

Leo winced at his phrasing, even as he was forced to admit Niles was right. The roar of the crowd was rising to thundering levels, a sound he was all-too-familiar with from winters with too little food and summers with taxes too high.

Hearing Windmire’s murmurs from the safety of Krakenburg, however, was entirely different from finding himself in the eye of the Chevois storm.

Leo nodded, once, and that was all the cue Niles needed to heave the cloak over his head, grab the prince by the shoulders, and usher him through the wailing, gnashing crowd.

“His notebook, Scarlet!” were the last words Leo could make out. “Get his notebook!”

~~~

**Border Wall, on the edge of Cheve, Nohr**

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Leo dear.”

Personally, Leo was of the mind that particular idea could go out with the day’s refuse. They had made it to the border wall on the edge of Cheve’s territory a few hours ago, the Nohrian soldiers stationed therein scrambling to find them adequate lodging. The meager room Leo had found himself in boasted a narrow bed and a wide window for amenities; he could admit to it being marginally better than sleeping in the rough, but not by very much.

Camilla had invited herself in a moment ago, to Leo’s dismay. Presently, he was busy indulging in what he deemed ‘analyzing the situation’ and his eldest sister was liable to call ‘brooding.’ He’d perched on the edge of the window, watching the last rays of dusk die over the flat barrenness of the winter landscape.

“I was there, Camilla,” he said tightly. “I was in the very heart of it and I did _ nothing.” _

“There was nothing you _ could _have done,” Camilla insisted, her boots clicking across the floor as she crossed the room to insert herself into his peripheral vision. “Niles did the right thing, getting you out of there before the situation got any worse.”

“But surely there must have been _ something,” _ Leo snapped, fixing his gaze on her. “I should have done _ something.” _

Camilla’s voice softened as she propped her hip on the window ledge, lowering herself to mirror his posture. “You’re a genius, Leo,” she said. “You’re one of the most brilliant people I know, and I’m not just saying that because you’re my adorable baby brother.” Leo scoffed at that, but she continued on. “In a time like that, you must understand people cannot be reasoned with. All the eloquence and bright ideas in the world will do you no good.”

Leo closed his eyes, breathing out a sigh. Clearly her words were meant to absolve him of the mantle of guilt hanging heavy on his shoulders, but they did no such thing. Instead of continuing a pointless dialogue that would inevitably end without either of them budging, he changed the subject. “Do you suppose Father’s heard of it by now?”

Camilla clicked her tongue. “I’m sure he will by the end of the day if he hasn’t by now.” She tapped a manicured nail on the peeling window ledge. “It may be best to refrain from telling him of your involvement in the matter.”

Leo glanced up at her sharply. “You don’t suppose he would…?” He left the end of the sentence unsaid—while he couldn’t be _ entirely _sure what Garon might do with the information that Leo was partially responsible for the turn of the day’s events, he came to the sudden, sickening realization that it could very well be more than a little unpleasant. After a moment, though, he shook his head. “He’ll hear of it, though. A prince in a riot is a bit newsworthy.”

“Deny it.”

He blinked at her flat statement.

“Tell him it’s hearsay,” Camilla continued. “That the Chevois wished to paint the crown in an unfavorable light by claiming your presence.”

“Hans will confirm I was there, though,” Leo pointed out.

“It will be his word against yours,” Camilla said. “And mine. As well as that of Niles and Beruka, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Leo said absently. “Niles will corroborate anything I say if I ask him. It’s just…” He paused, then added in a low tone. “Do you think it would be that terrible?”

Camilla shook her head. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “But I’d rather you safe than sorry.”

~~~

**Chevalier, Cheve, Nohr**

The antiseptic sting of concoctions mingled in the air with the coppery tang of blood and the stench of other, even less pleasant bodily fluids. Madam Amelie—a bright woman in her late fifties that was the corner healer in this section of Chevalier—had flung open her doors to those injured in the riots, but her little storefront was meant to mend sprained ankles and sell potions for upset stomachs. It was not built to withstand the groaning, bleeding dozens camped out on every inch of available floor.

Amelie had seen Francis before any of the others, taking him to the back and leaving her two daughters to tend those who came in later. Jacques had gone with, while Scarlet had found a spot in the far corner and curled up on herself to wait. She’d been in Madam Amelie’s back room before, anyway, and she had known there wouldn’t be space for her.

She’d had a feeling, when she’d seen the dark look on the healer’s face, that she’d known what the outcome would be whether she was there or not.

She still had Francis’s notebook. Jacques had all but screamed at her to get it, after all.

Scarlet had hardly ever seen Francis without it.

Time became meaningless. It dragged into a swirl of the groaning around her, the muted sounds of struggle outside. The riots had moved on, but surely they would end the same way as they had the previous month. The Nohrian soldiers would sweep in and slaughter everything that stood in their path for a moment too long. Chevalier had been under martial law for three days the last time; Scarlet couldn’t imagine anything less would happen this time.

She did her best to filter through the information that came in with every new arrival. Rumor held that Prince Leo and Princess Camilla had fled Chevalier; no one seemed to be quite certain what had become of the dastard Hans.

When Jacques finally reappeared, Scarlet didn’t need to ask what happened. His trembling hands and bloodshot eyes said it all. Wordlessly, she scooted away from the man holding a bloodied towel to his shoulder. Just as silently, Jacques settled into the open spot.

It was ten minutes before he finally spoke. “He was fifteen.”

“I know,” Scarlet whispered.

“He was fifteen,” Jacques repeated. “He should’ve… should’ve had his whole life ahead of him… oh, gods, I’ll have to tell Mother…” A choked sob escaped him, but it seemed once he began to speak he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “He never did have an ounce of street sense… trying to talk to the prince like that…”

“His ideas really are brilliant, though,” Scarlet pointed out, then hastily corrected, “Were.” Jacques only winced and she regretted the addition immediately. “I’m sorry. I hope you didn’t mind that I read through his notes… There wasn’t much else to do.” Rather than sticking her foot any further in her mouth, she handed the leather-bound journal over to its next of kin.

“It’s fine,” Jacques muttered, then barked a humorless laugh. “Brilliant, maybe… practical, never. All of Nohr would fall into the Bottomless Canyon before Garon let us elect our own representatives in Windmire.”

“Probably,” Scarlet admitted. “Still, what a world that would be, huh? I think I’d rather live in Francis’s than ours.”

“Yeah,” said Jacques. “Me too.” His fists abruptly clenched. “I’m going to kill those dastards. I… that was my gods-damned brother and I’ll make them _ pay.” _

Scarlet caught his arm as he moved to rise to his feet. “Hey, wait, wait. You go out there and you’ll just get yourself killed.” He gave her a flabbergasted look. “I know, I know. I want to too. But there might be an alternative.”

“Like what?” he spat.

“I can’t say here,” said Scarlet. “But when I was in Cyrkensia, I was approached by—” She broke off. “I really shouldn’t say who. But my point is, Jacques, I was wrong.”

“About what?”

She sighed. “When I met Prince Xander this summer… I was hopeful. I thought maybe Nohr could see reason. Wishful thinking, I know. The only reason they understand comes at the end of a blade. And on that count… we might have an unexpected ally.”

Jacques raised a brow. “Like who?”

Scarlet paused, then leaned up to whisper in his ear, so softly she could barely hear herself speak.

_ “Hoshido.” _

~~~

**Cyrkensia, Nestra**

To another’s ears, Kagerou would have been silent—silent enough to startle whoever it was she had come up behind. In this case, however, her target was as accustomed to the ways of the ninja as she was; Saizou didn’t so much as flinch when she dropped into the alley not two feet from him.

“Is there word from Lord Ryouma?” he asked in a low tone.

“Yes,” she replied. “His last word was of the company’s leaving Mokushu. I imagine they’ll arrive by tomorrow.”

“Good,” Saizou said simply. The ninja hadn’t moved from where he crouched in the shade of his hideout, watching the bustle of Cyrkensia carry on, blissfully unaware of their presence. The spires of the opera house rose above the skyline, casting jagged shadows over the city square.

Kagerou weighed her words for a moment, then said, “There’s more.”

Saizou glanced at her and tilted his head in invitation. Kagerou handed over the second letter she’d received, already knowing its short contents but perusing it over her fellow retainer’s shoulder anyway.

_ I have considered your offer at length and decided to accept your benefactor’s aid. Our mutual friends have fled the city after today’s riots, and I have information they intend to remain at home until after the new year. _

_ I think our best choice would be New Year’s Eve. _

At the top, the letter was dated two days ago, confirming the timeline of the riots they’d heard of. They’d heard that even Prince Leo himself had been involved, but Kagerou wasn’t sure how much stock to put in that rumor.

At the bottom, the letter was signed with a single word—the code name they’d agreed upon when they’d met with the governor of Cheve’s daughter the week prior.

_ Crimson _

_ FIN _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look I finally finished this. I don't have much in the way of notes this time, but I will say this: Francis was created with the sole intention of being killed off and I still almost cried when I wrote it. Poor boy was ahead of his time and he deserved better.


End file.
